


Sealed Fate

by RubyFiamma



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Kissing, Boys Kissing, Fate & Destiny, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Parallel Universes, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera and Yamamoto skip across universes only to find that destiny will inevitably reassert the pattern that was always meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sealed Fate

**Author's Note:**

> [heynevicare](http://heynevicare.tumblr.com/) asked: _for the kiss prompt thing, 5, 15, or 25 for 8059? btw I love your writing so much you are legit my favorite writer!_
> 
> Prompt Fill #5) Angry Kiss

**Sealed Fate**

* * *

 

“I fucking hate you,” Gokudera sneers as he shoves at Yamamoto’s shoulder, back through the dissipating cloud of cotton-candy smoke. “This is all your fault. We would have never gotten stuck here if you didn’t use that stupid ten year Bovino bomb. _Idiot_.”

“How was I supposed to know this was going to happen?” Yamamoto defends, raising his hands up in the air like he’s already surrendering. Gokudera knows him easy, of course he is.

Gokudera reaches out to sink his fingers into the fabric of Yamamoto’s shirt, flicks his wrist and wrenches it so that the other is forced into Gokudera’s personal space. “Because that weirdo freak Irie _told_ you they were fucking duds! You’d have to be stupid to mess with shit like that! Oh – that’s right – you _are_ fucking stupid!”

“Gokudera, c'mon,” Yamamoto says, and there’s almost a laugh behind the words and so help him, Gokudera swears if he laughs, he’s a dead man. “It was an accident, alright? I didn’t mean to drop it.”

His eyes are soft with honesty, and sometimes Gokudera has to wonder just how much of Yamamoto is actually there inside that empty and wasted headspace. “Whatever. How the fuck are we going to get home?”

“The effects only last for five minutes right? We just have to wait it out, I guess,” shrugs Yamamoto as Gokudera loosens his grip on the other’s t-shirt.

“You guess, huh? Well you better fucking hope we don’t run into our past or future selves. That can fuck some serious shit up. I’ve got _no_ idea where we are and no way to contact the Tenth to let him know we’re alright… _Fuck._ What if our future selves are in the present right now?”

Yamamoto scratches his head. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“ _No_ , you fucking moron. My future self is an idiot and your future self is a bigger idiot and also a jerk –”

“I’m not a jerk,” Yamamoto protests. “And it’s not my fault my future self told you about… About you and me in the future.”

Gokudera stops dead in his tracks and the twigs underfoot snap-echo in the silence. “I told you to _never_ talk about that. It’s not going to come true because I won’t let it. What the _hell_ was future me thinking?”

“I can’t help it, I’m kind of curious,” Yamamoto muses. “Ah! Maybe this is the moment where we figure things out!”

“Like _hell_ it is, baseball freak!” Gokudera stomps away, further into the strange and almost eerie looking forest. He’s not afraid, and this whole this is quite frankly the most ridiculous thing. He’s never even seen this place before, and how the hell did they end up here when they were in that nerd kid Irie’s apartment? Unless – unless this is somehow an alternate universe, like the ones Byakuran had said to have jumped between.

“Holy shit,” Gokudera gasps, whirling around to face Yamamoto, who’s to no surprise right on his heels. “Holy shit, we’re in a parallel universe.“ 

Yamamoto’s face drops into immediate confusion. Naturally. “Huh?”

“You idiot, pay attention! We didn’t just go back or forwards into time, we’re in a completely _different_ world than our own!”

“How do you know that?”

“I just _do_. We’re in the middle of a forest, how the hell did we get here? When we left it was lunch time, but here the sky is orange and I can’t tell if the sun is setting or rising because holy _fuck_ where is the sun – Yamamoto, _where is the sun?!_ ” He’s not having a panic attack, no, he’s just a little freaked out but also excited and this is really great, that’s why his heart is racing like he’s high on methamphetamine – but this is also a little fucking nerve wracking, they’ve been here for a long time, haven’t they? Has it been five minutes yet?

_Shit, it’s definitely been five minutes, fuck we’re going to be trapped here._

A hand drops to his shoulder, jars him back out of his head and he jumps but it’s not like he’s freaked out or anything. It’s just Yamamoto, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly with his lips twisted in what looks like an almost-grin, and he looks like it’s really painful for him to hold back.

He points with his other hand over Gokudera’s head, nudges him encouragingly to turn the other way. “Gokudera, the sun is just above those trees. See? You can see the red crest just over the top.”

He does see it now, and heat ignites under his skin like a raging wildfire spreading quick through his veins. “Fuck _you,_ ” he croaks, unable to shed the streak of tell-tale embarrassment from crackling through his tone. “I hate you. This is all your fault. _Everything_ is your fault, I hate your stupid face and that stupid grin and will you just quit looking at me like that!”

Yamamoto blinks and takes a step back. “Sorry,” he blurts with his hands up, as if it’ll ease the onslaught of insults Gokudera’s about to throw at him. “It’s just your eyes are really pretty in this light.”

Gokudera’s heart skids to a stop, and he has to blink, check the ringing sound in his ears to make sure they’re resonating the correct words that came out of the other’s mouth. “What did you just say? Didn’t I tell you to –”

Yamamoto flinches as Gokudera juts out an arm, fists his hand into the other’s shirt again, grabbing it so quickly he feels his fingernails scrape against skin. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t thinking!”

“That’s your problem, you never think!” roars Gokudera, jerking the other down to eye level. He’s not even aware that they’re as close as they are, or maybe he is because suddenly the gold flecks in Yamamoto’s eyes are shimmering, and the curve of his mouth looks soft and pliant and Gokudera’s pulse is racing behind his ears as he tries to gulp down words that want to come out but shouldn’t.

And suddenly there’s an urge, a curiosity that shouldn’t be so damn appealing but it is, and he’s so close he can feel the warmth of the other’s breath spill over his lips so for once Gokudera doesn’t think either, and he smashes his mouth against unsuspecting Yamamoto’s lips. It’s too abrupt and clumsy, their teeth smack together before Yamamoto clues in on what’s happening but as soon the other figures it out, there are hands in his hair and blunt nails grazing at his scalp. He should pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead he pushes harder. He shouldn’t like this, but he does. Instead he shuts his eyes to the sensation snapping up his spine.

This was just supposed to prove that he hates Yamamoto, that there is nothing and will always be nothing in between them but he hadn’t seen this coming. Everything is raw and on fire, there’s an itch under Gokudera’s skin; hot irritation boiling in his blood but there’s also a wave surging in his stomach that makes him feel weightless and dizzy all at the same time. He wants to be angry, he _is_ angry but it’s all at himself, at the situation because he wants to hate this but he doesn’t.

Gokudera’s tongue is moving on it’s own accord because he’s got no idea how the hell it ended up in Yamamoto’s mouth, licking against the buttery-sweet of the other’s tongue. He doesn’t understand it, but they’re impossibly close now, somewhere along the line Gokudera’s hand ended up clutching the other’s ink-black strands, and one of Yamamoto’s hands is pressed against the small of his back. The other isn’t relenting and neither is Gokudera, and he should; he’s getting short on air but Yamamoto’s tongue is sweeping the inside of his mouth, and if Gokudera’s not mistaken, over the sound of his own laboured breathing, he can hear the faintest whimper stumble across his tongue.

When he decides he can no longer efficiently breathe on his own and the borrowed air from Yamamoto’s lungs is no longer going to suffice, Gokudera breaks away, shoving the other with enough violence to have him stumbling backward over his own feet. He’s about to string together a slew of expletives but the second he opens his mouth, he feels gravity shift under his feet and out of his peripheral, he sees Yamamoto swallowed by a burst of pink smoke and then Gokudera’s body begins tingling and the hairs on the back of his neck start to bristle and soon the only thing he’s seeing is a veil of powder-pink.

The next thing Gokudera is aware of is being on his bottom in the unfamiliar of Irie’s bedroom, and “Gokudera-kun! Yamamoto! What happened?”

He’s still too disoriented to respond but Yamamoto’s laughter clears his head in an instant, better than any quick-fix hangover solution he’s ever tried out.

“I’m not really sure,” Yamamoto supplies, and Gokudera doesn’t miss the quick flicker of the other’s tongue slide across his lips.

“It was nothing, Tenth!” Gokudera chimes in, getting to his feet. “Was it really five minutes? It didn’t even feel like we were gone a second. Please get rid of those bombs, though. They’re definitely no good.”

“I told you we should have,” whines Irie and the rest of the conversation becomes a buzz of background noise when Gokudera catches Yamamoto’s smiling gaze. He looks like he’s warm and melty, his eyes are a hazy hue and his cheeks are dusted rose.

“I still hate you,” Gokudera whsipers when he tips in towards the other as to make sure only his ears hear it. There are fingers closing over the pulsepoint in his wrist, so light he can barely feel them.

“No,” Yamamoto says as he tucks his fingers in against Gokudera’s palm. “You really don’t.”


End file.
